


The Lost Soldier

by Empress1031



Series: Happily Never After [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Disney - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Historical, Historical References, Jealousy, Love Triangles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress1031/pseuds/Empress1031
Summary: Everyone thinks they know the story of the Beauty and the Beast, but this lost soldier’s tale can show you far more than you could have ever imagined.
Relationships: Belle/Gaston (Disney)
Series: Happily Never After [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561108
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Stable boy to Runaway Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> I use some French. All of which is from Google translate. Please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes.

Once upon a time, there was a man who wanted nothing more than to live his days peacefully on his family's land. His name is Octavio Damian Del Castillo Real and as the name suggests he is the eighth son of Señor Damian Fortunato Del Castillo Real. His father, a Spanish aristocrat of fairly low standing, worked in his office while the land was tended by his two servants and four remaining sons to keep the house and the family afloat. The castle was modest on the outside as well as within, and although it was a castle by name, it was nothing more than an over-priced farm house. The two story stone building was set in the countryside more than a half a day's carriage ride from the city center with rich farm land and open fields for raising horses and livestock. The rooms were all dressed plainly yet neatly to spare any extra cleaning on the part of the mother for her only servants were the son's wives, the daughters that still lived in the house and a boy too weak to work the fields. There was one medium sized bedroom filled to capacity with the younger children, an other much larger room split between the two eldest sons and their wives, a master bedroom for the parents, a dining room, kitchen, two powder rooms and an office.

Our boy, Octavio, was the tenth born in a pack of twelve with another on its way. He had only ever met seven of his siblings because the others were married off or sent to the army. Octavio learned from a young age that he could never ask for more than what he was given and only ever did as he was told. His life, as it was, consisted of studies in basic arithmetics, literacy, and French when his tutor, the second son, could be bothered to teach it. The rest of the day was left for work. His main duty was caring for the horses. This was his favorite time of the day. He took great care of the three stallions, five mares, and four foals. He loved them more than anything and made certain that they were never left wanting. Octavio didn't like the house. It was cramped, stuffy, and felt like a prison under his mother's ever watchful eye. Octavio lived for the hour when the clock struck nine ending his lessons for the morning and releasing him into the open air. His days were never exciting, but he preferred the safeness of it.

However, it was on Octavio's fifteenth year thatev erything changed. It was the same with all of his siblings really. They were all simply doing work until the day when their father called them into his office. Everything depended on what would benefit the family more. For the boys, it was either life on the land or life in the army. The girls were either married to collect their dowries or sent to the convent to be nuns. There had only been one who tried to escape the family. He was promptly caught, broken, stripped of the family name, and put to work under their mother as a slave. That brother was the main reason Octavio knew not to object, no matter the outcome. Yet the morning of his fifteenth birthday started like any other save for the rather grim faces his siblings wore. It wasn't until after he'd finished putting away the horses after their morning run that he was called upon.

"Father calls!" Yelled the second son from the patio connected to the back of the house.

"Yes, sir!" Octavio replied as he rushed to put the last horse away.

Octavio ran to the house, knowing full well that father did not like to be kept waiting. He had only hoped that his attention to detail when caring for the animals was something worth keeping. Promptly, he arrived at the large oak door that led to his father's study. It was the only room he'd never entered, not even on accident. He knocked and after hearing a muffled "Enter," from the other side, Octavio pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was a large imposing room with books lining either side. A large mahogany desk was set just in front of three thin but tall windows that had a sweeping view of the land and its workers. There were papers in separate neat piles on the left side of the desk. Lining the front was an ink bottle, quill, and paper weight. His father hadn't even looked up from the papers he was signing when he spoke.

"Son, you've been chosen to serve his majesty's army. Men are waiting for you out front. Go and bring honor to the name Del Castillo Real."

As he finished, he handed Octavio a sheet of paper. On it was a military contract stating that the army would grant the Del Castillo Real family a bonus of two-hundred pesos for his service and a monthly salary of fifteen pesos a week to be paid to the family directly. They would also be granted a severance payment of three-hundred pesos in case of his death. No where was it written how long his service would be or where he would be stationed. He didn't want to leave. Those who left for the army never returned. The one who did came back in a casket. He didn't like the idea of not knowing what would happen to him.

"Yes, sir." Octavio replied trying to reign in his fear. "Sir, may I ask who will care for the horses while I'm away?"

His father huffed, but it sounded more like a growl from an angry predator.

"That is not your concern. Now go. You're wasting my time, boy."

Octavio bowed trying to keep his knees from buckling underneath him. He had never seen a brother return from the army alive. There had been at least two others he'd heard of that had gone to the army. His steps were heavy as he tried to make it to the door clutching the horrid paper in his hand. He bowed once more feeling like his entire body might collapse right there, but he managed to exit and close the door behind him. On the other side stood the eldest, he looked down upon his disheartened brother with pity and pulled him up to stand.

"You can't stay here. You have to go." He said matter of factly knowing their father could hear them.

Octavio nodded wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. He looked at his clothes and wondered if he was even allowed to keep them. His bother gently pushed him aside and told him to go to check his bed. Octavio shuffled over to the room and saw a bag already prepared on what used to be his bed. An old yellowish pillow case was filled with two spare shirts, a pair of pants, and heavily weathered boots. There were no tears, no hugs, no hint of regret from anyone, and he climbed into the carriage with little of hope for his new future.

The future was far worse than he had imagined, everyday filled with nothing but blood, sweat, and piss for months on end. Octavio tried his best to keep up with the demands of his superiors, waking at the crack of dawn to prepare for endless walks to nowhere; training with faulty firearms that would break or burst; getting brutal beatings by officer cadets and ensigns in the name of combat training. He often found himself missing the meager portions of his mother's food, if only because it had far more taste than the slop he was given on the road. The beautiful horses the lieutenants used were strictly forbidden to touch and it broke his heart to see them tossed to the side and chopped up for food after they fell in battle. Far worse, he hated himself for liking the dinners served on nights after a battle because it was undoubtedly horse meat in the watery soup. The air never smelled fresh or invigorating as it did back home. There was a never ending stench of excrement that wafted about the field permeating everything around them. On nights when they were allowed to sleep, the men in his tent would fight over who slept next to the oil lamp as it was the only source of heat, while he sat in a corner on a patch of damp leaves hugging himself to keep warm. He never truly slept well and everyday he paid for that unrest with more beatings and battles. Everyday was a new day of misery where he never knew what was going on or what he was supposed to do. All he understood was that the farther they walked the slimmer the formation lines became.

For five years, Octavio soldiered on as his battalion made its way around Europe, slowly dwindling in numbers. One morning, they were sent to a battle somewhere in the mountains of France. By now, he had no clue where they were, only that they were in enemy territory and that even escaping the battle could mean certain death by local law enforcement. The soldiers stood broken and battered trudging toward the next contest against death. They reached the open field with a soft hill just to the North. The grass was brown, crusty, and covered in a thin layer of frost. Their leather boots felt heavy with the weight of the mud from the week's journey, but they still made their formations. His battalion was broken up into smaller squadrons of fifty men that were scattered about the field in what one could only assume was a strategic manner. Octavio was starved, aching, and praying for a quick death as he stared down the sea of uniformed men facing them looking far more well fed and rested than any of the men by his side. Horns sounded off, orders shouted, shots fired, men roared, and on they charged hoping to be the lucky few to die instantly. The only weapon at Octavio's disposal was a small hunting knife that he'd picked up from a fellow soldier who'd fallen in the last fight. He gripped it tight in the hopes that when the two factions clashed and they came into close quarters, their muskets would prove useless. The day dragged on as blood spilled and the smell of defecation from the dead blew about in the winter winds. He managed to cut his way through to an opening, but this was not good news. In the open, he could easily be shot, and bullet wounds were notorious for taking weeks to kill its victim. So, at the first sound of a musket, Octavio dropped to the ground playing dead. The battle raged on as he slowly crept millimeter by millimeter away from the drone of wailing men and gunfire. Head aching from the sounds of canons and body weakened from starvation, he scanned the visible terrain with bod-shot eyes. Not but five hundred meters to the right of death’s garden was a thick forrest and without hesitation Octavio jumped up to run toward the only living thing that didn’t seem likely to kill him on sight. He could hear soldiers behind him, though whether the voices were real or just echoes from the battle, he knew not nor did he care. He only knew that he didn’t want them any closer. He ran and ran until his legs could carry him no further then he hobbled farther still. The soldier’s voices were no longer behind him and when his mind realized that he was safer than he had been in years, his body collapsed on the hard cold earth.

************************************ ***********************************

A young lady of no more than twenty years walked about the forest with silent steady steps. She was on the hunt and had spotted a small dear making its way to the river. She was armed with a short bow, dressed in a dark blue shirt with matching skirt that cut slightly above her ankles, thick black winter stockings, boots, with her head covered in a black hooded cloak. She was low to the ground taking position by a robust tree for cover. The dear was sniffing a carcass of some sort. She took aim and was about to shoot when the arm of the body jerked at the dear's investigatory nibble. The dear back away slightly, but at the sound of the body's groan scampered off. The lady stood up walking slowly as the body of a man turned over to wretch in pain. His body was thin like a walking skeleton, clothes hanging off of him like large potato sacks. He pushed himself up to stand only to fall back with a grunt. The lady recognized the clothes as military dress, but she couldn't see any distinguishing marks. His breathing was low and shallow the small puffs barely escaping his chapped blood crusted lips. She approached with caution looking upon the man with studied eyes. He looked up at her, but his eyes seemed to look past her at the sky. He seemed to nod his head in affirmation of something, but it wasn't to anything she had done. The lady bent down and lifted the man into her arms. He was light enough for her to carry, but only just. The man was tall and had he been properly fed, the woman highly doubted she would have the strength to carry him as far as her home in the village.

Octavio awoke in warmth, nestled in a soft bed covered by quilted blankets and some voices chatting in the distance. He could feel his limbs as weak as they were, tingle with renewed strength. There was the sound of an old cabin door opening then the smell of herbs and soup graced his nostrils with a playful dance.

"Bonjour, Gaston! Comment ça va aujourd'hui?" Someone was talking to him, but his ears couldn't quite catch what was being said.

"Je t'ai apporté de la soupe." There was a pause. "Un moment. Es-tu réveillé? Gaston?"

His eyelids felt heavy as he stirred them to open. The room was bright with sunlight and it took him some time to focus, there was a voice speaking, but it sounded so far to his battle worn ears. He continued blinking until his eyes could see properly and he was shocked to see an angel standing over him. The angel's soft brown eyes sparkled with golden flecks in the morning light. She had flushed rosy cheeks, soft pouty lips slightly tinted with creme to fight off the cold, and light brown hair pulled back by a simple pale green ribbon. She wore a white shirt covered by a pale green corset that matched her ribbon. Octavio was so taken aback by the beauty before him, he hadn't caught the first words she's spoken, but she calmly repeated herself.

"Gaston. Eh... Pardon. Commet allez-vous, Monsieur?"

The lady spoke in the most beautifully accented French Octavio had ever heard. He wanted to respond, but his schooling was limited and French was not his best subject.

"Me comprenez vous?" She said slowly.

Not knowing her words, he simply shook his head and attempted to shrug his shoulders, but an unbearable ache took hold when he tried. The woman gently laid her hands on his chest to calm him, then spoke again.

"Quelle langue parlez-vous bien, Monsieur?" She made sure to speak clearly, in the hopes it would help him understand. Perhaps do to their similarity and some of his schooling returning to him, Octavio understood the words "language" and "well," and so guessed at her meaning. His throat was sore and hoarse, but he managed to tell her that his native tongue was Spanish. The woman nodded in understanding and he was dumbfounded at the fluidity of her next words.

"I found you in the woods while on the hunt. My father and I have been caring for you for nearly a week now. You are still very weak from malnutrition and exhaustion."

She spoke in his tongue, and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Still, he was a stranger in their home and an enemy of their king, he couldn't in good conscious stay and risk their livelihood. He tried to sit up again, but she pushed him down with a bit more force than he'd expected and grunted in pain. He had to tell them the truth, even if it meant leaving this heavenly space.

"Spanish army. Can't stay." He rasped out.

"You can and you will. My father has agreed to it." She responded curtly.

"Miss, can't. Dangerous." He pleaded.

"Sir, I found you and hulled your barely conscious body back to my home. The least you can do is give me your name and let me care for you." She replied with a bite to her words. Knowing that he was clearly on the losing end of this battle, Octavio conceded.

"Octavio." He said sinking a bit into the pillows in resignation.

"Thank you, Octavio. Now eat."

Not letting him protest, she lifted his head and had him sip on a thin but warm soup from a silver spoon. It revitalized his senses as he felt its warmth flow through his body. As she served him she spoke of their home, her father, his work as an architect, the village where she'd go to shop for supplies. He knew she was simply trying to fill the time and keep him engaged, but she seemed glad to talk to someone. Every once in a while she would look at him and address him as 'Gaston' then correct herself by asking his name which he gave. The next time she did this he interrupted her now that his throat felt well enough to speak properly.

"Gaston? What does it mean? You keep saying it?" He asked.

"Please forgive me. It's a name. My father and I have been using it to address you, and it is hard to break the habit." She said with an embarrassed flush to her cheeks.

"It doesn't bother me." He replied.

She laughed again before continuing to feed him soup until the bowl was empty.

"Wonderful." She said as she put the bowl on bedside table. "Now time for a bath.”

“Excuse me?”

Octavio exclaimed, but she had already rung a towel soaking in a wooden bowl and began to wipe his face and neck, swiftly yet gently making her way down his arms, chest and torso. He was stunned at her swift but sure movements. It was a strange feeling, being cleaned by such a beautiful woman, but he kept his thoughts to himself and breathed slowly as she massaged oil onto his skin to keep it from drying out. Just like before she carried on about her day-to-day activities which seemed to boil down to reading, cleaning, hunting, gathering berries and nuts from the forrest, and trading in town. In no time at all, she had finished. It wasn’t until she started to leave that he realized she hadn’t given her name yet, and he simply had to know the name of his rescuer.

"Miss! Your name? You haven’t given your name.” Was all his tired voice could manage.

“How rude of me. I’m Bellerose Lamaunt, but you may call me Belle." She said with a quick curtsey.

Octavio winced as his smiled, but was glad nonetheless. She returned his smile with one of her own and exited the room. Octavio's eyes, feeling heavy, slipped close and he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Time comes with many surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the seasons and years go by, Bellerose and Octavio grow closer

It was an early winter’s morning when Belle and Octavio went to the market looking for essentials to bring back to the cottage. Octavio’s French still wasn’t good enough to pass as a native, so he never spoke to anyone other than Belle. Of course, his appearance was enough to deter anyone. He was wearing Maurice’s old clothes. The shirts often fit him a bit like potato sacks on an under-stuffed scarecrow while the pants fit like a knee length skirt with bulk that resembled the folds of a petticoat. Even with a belt to hold the pants up and keep the shirt tucked, it did little to dispel the look of destitution. Thankfully, Belle had ordered some clothes from the seamstress, which was one of the many items on their agenda that day. Together they bought flour, sugar, molasses, tobacco for her father, and some of the few spices that made it into town. Although there was nothing special about the day, Octavio could feel the townsfolk eyeing them wherever they went. It was like being a gypsy in a road side show. He still hadn’t fully regained his strength, still standing a bit lanky and looking underfed despite the generous portions the Lamaunts gave him for every meal. His hair kept dropping in front of his face despite his best efforts to comb it back. He never dared to use the products in the house, as he still felt like an intruding guest. Belle was in a heated argument with the butcher, so Octavio wandered off knowing it would take time before the butcher ultimately gave into Belle’s demands. She looked back for a moment.

“Don’t go too far. The town isn’t kind to strangers.” She said in her beautifully accented Spanish.

“Oui, Mademoiselle.” He answered back.

It was more for show than anything else, but he addressed her as if he was a servant under her employment. She smiled and quickly went back to haggling, speaking much faster than his learning ear could understand. He stepped out of the shop and went for a walk around the square. It was a quick walk as everything was right next to each other, packed tightly together as if spreading out were not even a possibility. It led to certain shops carrying the smells of others and some questionable hygienic conditions. Octavio kept his eyes low so as not to make eye contact with anyone, but did steal glance at shop windows ever so often as he ventured on. He passed a cramped ally where a small man was being pummeled by a group of five much larger men.

“Come on LeFou! It’s no fun if you just lay there!” Said one man.

“Get up, you filthy drunk.” Said another as he kicked the man in the stomach.

The man let out a stream of vomit which only enraged his attackers bringing heavier stomps and more forceful strikes. Normally, Octavio didn’t mix with the townspeople and he certainly didn’t insert himself in a situation he had no place being, but something about the scene made Octavio move toward it. He didn’t like that they were kicking this man. He didn’t like that they were belittling him for fun. He doubted he could do anything for the man except maybe join him on the receiving end of the beating. Still, he pulled up to his full height hoping he would look more menacing than he felt and shouted in their direction.

“Away!”

It was the only word he could think of, so he stood still in hopes that his size was a good enough deterrent. The leader order two of the men toward Octavio, but he didn’t move. They were shouting and grunting and pushing him back. His legs were shaking as he took a punch to the jaw. Somehow he managed to push his way through to the little man who was now coughing up blood. The leader looked annoyed more than angry, so he gestured to the two largest men. They lunged forward tackling Octavio to the ground. He tried with varying levels of success to kick them off. After swinging his arm violently, it connected with the side of one of the men’s face forcing him back. The other let go of Octavio’s arm in surprise. Octavio ran over to the whimpering little man and lugged him down the ally as fast as he could. He turned a corner and hid them behind a wall of barrels. They waited for what seemed like hours until the angry men gave up and left. Once Octavio was certain the men were gone, he checked on the barely breathing man in his arms.

“Are you alright?” He asked looking at the man whose left eye was beginning to swell.

The little man groaned looking around as if in a stupor. He looked at Octavio and gave a weak smile.

“You must be new in town.” He coughed out, some blood coming with it. “Everyone just stays away when I’m getting beaten.”

“Um… Are you alright?” Octavio understood most of what the man had said, but wasn’t sure how to reply with the amount of French he knew.

“I’ll be well after another trip to the surgeon. Mind helping me get there?”

Octavio thought for a moment. He didn’t even know where they were never mind where the surgeon was. He was at a loss for what to do or say, but seeing as this man needed medical attention, he had to do something.

“Are you ok there, mon ami?” Asked Lefou.

“I…” Octavio looked at the man and saw genuine concern, as if Octavio had been the one nearly beaten to death.

“Maybe you should see the surgeon?” Lefou sat up now checking Octavio’s head. “You look alright.”

“Fine.” Octavio said. “Foreigner…” He said while pointing to himself.

“Oh… How well do you speak?” Asked Lefou.

Octavio gestured with his hands that it was limited.

“Well… Who do you know in the village?” He asked.

“Mademoiselle Lamaunt.” He answered.

“Wow! Lady Belle finally gave up and got herself an escort. A bit underfed, but not bad.” He joked.

Octavio simply shrugged his shoulders, having not caught a bit of the man’s words through the slurred accent.

“Alright, Me.” Said the man while pointing to himself. “I’m Michael Lefou. You, mon ami?”

“Oct…” Octavio stopped himself short. “Gaston.” He corrected himself.

“Well, Gaston, let’s find your Mademoiselle. She must be worried.”

He sluggishly got up from the dusty ground, Octavio followed suit telling Lefou that he last saw Belle at the Butcher’s. They made there way to the shop, but instead found Belle in the square running about in a panic. Octavio called out to her and she fell over a basket of laundry trying to get to him. Both men dashed to her side and helped her up.

“You infuriating man! Where were you? What happened? I told you not to go far! What if…”

“Lady Lamaunt.” Said Lefou interrupting her. “Don’t be upset. Gaston here saved me from my daily beating by the men at the pub. You shouldn’t berate him for trying to help. At least, I think you were berating him. It sounded like it.”

“He what?” She gasped now looking earnestly at both of them. Lefou with his disheveled clothes and swollen eye and Octavio with his scuffed knees and bloody cheek looking sheepishly down at his feet, both looked very much like they’d been beaten to a pulp. Belle apologized to both men and took them to the surgeon. Octavio was given a salve while Lefou had the blood let from his swollen eye.

“Thank you, Gaston. You are a better man than most.” Said Lefou as they made their way out of the surgeon’s office. Octavio shook his head and lightly patted Lefou on the back.

“I’m not, but I… accept? the compliment?” He said a bit unsure if he’d spoken correctly. Lefou smiled back.

“Accept all the compliments, my friend.” Lefou stuck out his hand for Octavio to take. They shook hands as if to say they were friends now, then bid each other farewell.

Belle and Octavio made their way to the bookstore for their last bit of shopping before heading home. The store was small, a boutique really, squeezed in between the bakers and the tailors. The owner was an old man with thinning snowy white hair that only covered the circumference of his head leaving the top completely bald. He wore a brown leather vest over a grey cotton shirt haphazardly tucked into black working pants and mud-caked ankle high boots. Octavio wasn’t sure what a bookstore owner should look like, but he was quite sure that they shouldn’t look like this man. They circled the shop once over and despite the owner having just received a shipment of excess books from the monastery up north, they were all ones they’d read before. Belle, however, was picking up some of the newer looking copies to take home and replace their older ones. While sifting through the stack of literature set aside as fiction, Octavio found “The Canterbury Tales” by George Chaucer. He couldn’t help the smile that came over him and called Belle over. They both shared a knowing look. The store owner clearly hadn’t read it, for if he had he wouldn’t have left it on his shelves. Belle took the book to the seller and purchased it immediately.

"We can't let this gem get away." She said to the old man.

“I guess the castle is allowed a mistake or two.” He replied. “They get first pick, you see.”

“Is that so?” Belled leaned over to whisper in Octavio’s ear in Spanish. "It’s a wonder they didn’t burn it."

Octavio let out a boisterous laugh and the clerk looked at them quizzically.

"So the book's a comedic piece I take it?" He asked half-heartedly.

"It certainly depicts… everyone… in the most… interesting light… I'd ever read." Belle jested between gulps of breath, Octavio still a laughing mess behind her.

The clerk just huffed an empty laugh and handed over the book with a tattered silk covering to keep it safe. Belle and Octavio had one final peruse then bought the remaining books in one large order. Everything was cordial and pleasant, but just as they were leaving Octavio heard the shopkeeper whisper just loud enough to hear.

"Now the harlot brings an escort. As if it could cover the stench of impropriety from her."

Belle continued on to the bakery to get a snack and a quick cup of tea before returning, she had already sent the larger supplies by courier before. They sat opposite each other, using Octavio’s native tongue to converse.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think the bookkeeper’s words were kind when we left.” He stated plainly.

“They were not kind, but you need not worry.”

“But you look bothered by it.”

“It hurts, yes. But, none of them know the reason why we came here, and I have no reason to give explanations to people who won’t listen.” She replied matter of factly.

“Wait. You’re not from here?” He asked without thinking, and she gave a hollow chuckle in response.

“I guess we never really got to that part of my history in our talks.” She said staring at her cup.

He shook his head and she told the tale of her mother falling to the plague and her father running away to this land to escape it. He didn’t want his girl to be weak of mind or body, so he was her teacher in all manner of subjects: arithmetic, science, hunting, archery, politics, even fencing. He took her with him to his work sites building cathedrals and castles as she grew because he didn’t trust the tutors of the village and outright refused to send her to a convent.

“I’m sorry you lost your mother. I barely knew anyone in my family. There were just so many of us it was like a madhouse. Sisters would be married off to collect dowries or sent to be nuns. Brothers were sold to the army like I was or put to work the land. It was all to keep a house that I doubt we could afford and a title that was basically a shining turd among other dry and dusty ones. I thought the army would treat me more like a brother in arms, but we were just pawns being moved about a chess board without a care for our well-being. In my final battle, I fled the fight because I finally realized that if no one missed me, then I was free. I was finally free to die on my own terms.”

His voice trailed off with a melancholy laugh. He hadn’t meant to divulge so much and certainly not to a lady like Belle. His hands shook as his blood ran cold simply from the memory. He felt Belle’s soft warm hands over his as she stroked his fingers with her thumbs until they relaxed.

“I can only say that I am grateful for your troubles, because they brought you to me, to us.”

He looked up at her warm smile and relaxed, she and her father truly were heaven sent.

“It is your odd ways that make you wonderful. It is why I love y…” He caught himself. “Your family.”

A calming silence took them until the sudden sound of fanfare blasted through the village - a royal was approaching. Belle immediately rolled her eyes and groaned in disgust. Octavio hadn’t met any of the royals of the area as of yet and wanted to at least see one. He looked about curiously and saw a small squadron of about twenty men parade down the main street in their formal uniforms. Behind them a gallant man of medium build with wavy blondish brown hair, sharp pointed nose, prominent cleft chin, and ever so lightly pink tinted lips shined brilliantly in presentation armor. His white horse sported a studded mane of braided locks and a black leather brace with a gold plate bearing the king's seal on its breast. They seemed to glimmer in the afternoon sun with a vibrance that could only be described as garishly ostentatious and narcissistic. The man was waving to the crowds as the ladies of the shops dropped their tasks to swarm him. His men guarded against the eligible ladies of town (along with some ineligible ones) who gathered around the stallion hands stretched out in an effort to touch the glistening man. Others flailed about like fever-stricken hens not knowing which way they should flap about to gain attention. Octavio noticed Belle's discontent and offered to return home and she agreed. They gathered their things, left money on the table for the patron, then made their way down the street. Unfortunately, the shining knight caught sight of Belle, and called out to her.

"Belle!” He shouted before he dismounted his stallion, which shook about thankful to be rid of the excess weight. “You grace me with your beauty upon my triumphant return. The fates are kind this fine day."

The women seeing defeat hung back at the wave of his hand as he trudged with heavy steps towards Belle.

"My Belle!" He cried throwing his arms out to embrace her, but she stepped back narrowly escaping.

"Your highness must take heed that he is in armor and to hold a lady in his arms while adorned in excess would hurt her." She said with the sweetest tone of murder Octavio had ever heard. He also noted that she was speaking slowly and pronouncing her words with extra care, perhaps to allow him the luxury of following along. The knight was in fact the prince, so of course, Belle's words did not deter him in the slightest.

"Ah yes, in my excitement to have you near, I forgot my might could crush such a delicate flower." He continued on. "And, my Belle, how many times must I ask that you address me as Adhemar." He pleaded.

"Your highness has returned from another… languorous battle," Belle replied while completely ignoring his plea. "He should report to the king at once and allow his unit to rest.” She took another step back to stand next to Octavio. “As I have chores to attend to and an escort to keep me safe, I bid thee adieu."

She said as she bowed, took Octavio by the arm and pulled them away, but again, the prince did not yield. Instead grabbing her arm to turn her around forcefully.

"Now. Now.” He grunted out. “My Belle. You mustn't say such things.” His voice had returned to its happier tone. “Sharp words may cut me a path toward another, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" Almost as if expecting a witty reply he continued. "While your escort seems..." He paused taking in the shabbiness of Octavio’s clothing and slightly hunched stance then snickered. "Adequate. I can provide far better protection and conversation on your journey home."

Belle pulled her arm out of the prince’s grip to face him square on.

"His Highness over estimates his proficiency in literature." She paused a moment before taking slow and steady steps toward the prince who took them as playful advances, smiling.

“I highly doubt it, my Belle. You know as well as I do the extent of my studies.” He replied holding his ground.

"I am well aware of the education his highness receives." She continued to move forward, and the prince started to fall back. "However, I cannot afford to spend the time I have on this Earth teaching a pebble that it is not a mountain."

Just as he was about to protest, she bowed forcing the prince to step back once more. His foot caught the side of a fallen barrel and toppled back onto a pitch fork, severely denting but not piercing the armor. He rolled onto the floor shouting in pain. Belle's brief smile was devilishly delightful.

“His highness really should be careful when adorned in armor.” She said in a tone of mocking distress. “It being so heavy, unforeseeable accidents like this could occur at any moment.”

Four men from the squadron broke ranks to help the prince as Belle turned on her heel and led Octavio by the arm off the beaten path to escape the madness. The prince’s roar of outrage rung clearly throughout the town like an provoked animal, and it only served as incentive to move faster. They were practically running for the tree line not really looking to see if anyone was following. It wasn’t until they were in the thickest part of the forrest that they finally came to a stop, panting.

“That man… is a wretched… pile of… of… Good God! There aren’t any words to describe how wretched he is‼” She finally exclaimed into the open air.

“I don’t know him… as well as… you do, but I will say… that if you dislike him that much, you should take care… that those feelings… don’t turn into affection.” He joked.

“You… vile… backstabbing… stool pigeon!” She huffed out tears of exertion stinging her eyes.

“No. No. I’ve read hatred can… get twisted up… into a strange form of attraction.” Octavio countered failing to hold back his laughter between his gasps for breath.

“You venomous… demon from hell…”

“Perhaps I should be worried…?”

“About my gutting you… as soon as I get my hunting knife?”

“Well, yes, and that you might have already fallen.”

“Your jokes are particularly unpleasant today, Gaston.”

“I meant for me” He joked.

She blushed an intense scarlet red then picked up a near by rock and threw it at him.

“Bite your tongue, Octavio!” She said as she hurled herself forward to tackle him down. They rolled about until she had him pinned down in the roots of a tree.

“I surrender, my lady! Mercy! Mercy!” He cried in mock distress.

“That’ll teach you to not say such wretched things.” She snickered back.

She brushed away some leaves from his hair, but didn’t get up. Octavio felt odd with her on top of him picking at his hair and clothes. His heart wasn’t pounding from the run or their light jostle anymore. Belle being so near and so affectionate made his cheeks flush until their eyes met and she jumped out of his lap. He curled into a ball not entirely sure what he should do next. Belle was busying herself by brushing off loose twigs and shrubbery that had gotten caught in her dress. He stood up and followed suit. After a few moments of silence, Belle finally spoke.

“I’m sorry for pinning you down.” She said.

“No, I took things too far.” He said back.

From there, Belle took a good look around at where they were, and realized that she didn’t exactly know this part of the forest. The sun hadn’t quite set, but it was too low to see through the thick trees. The sky was turning from a deep auburn to a cool violet tone as a few stars and a planet or two came into view. Octavio took the moment to inspect their surroundings, and he too noticed that he didn’t see a path or any markings to indicate their location. Of course, he was with Belle, and so long as she was not panicked, he knew everything would be alright.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you? Because I… am very lost.” He said aloud.

“Well, I’m not 100 percent sure, but I think I can get us back.” She answered.

“Lead the way.” He said taking notice of the moonlight dancing across her face.

Belle was down on her knees touching the moss on the trees and smelling the air. She would look up at the stars and hold her hand up as if the moonlight was too strong for her eyes. Eventually, she stood up and took Octavio by the hand, interlacing her fingers with his which made Octavio’s heart jump.

“Stay close. I’m really just guessing, this style of navigation is meant for the sea not land.”

They made their way through the forrest with Belle in the lead. Ever so often, when the clouds covered the moonlight and all around went dark, she would grip his hand tight.

“Belle?” He asked as her grip loosened a bit.

“Yes, Gaston?” She didn’t look back at him. She was marching on weaving through the trees.

“No. Never mind. It’d be silly and we need to press on.”

“It’s alright. Just ask.” She said calmly.

“Well… Are you afraid of the dark?”

“Haha.” She laughed aloud. “While that is a solid educated guess, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

“So… what’s with this?” He said lifting their joined hands as proof of some sort.

“This…” She seemed to be thinking of a logical response rather than the truth, so Octavio thought. “This is to make sure we don’t get separated.”

“And?” He pushed.

“And…” He pressed again.

“Because I…” She took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose you to the wolves.” She said finally.

Octavio let go of her hand for some reason, and instead chose to follow close behind her. Although he enjoyed holding her hand, he didn’t like that she had lied to him. He didn’t know what the real answer was, but he knew she wasn’t being forthcoming either. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like hours. Belle marched on, albeit with less gumption than before, and a soft gentle light broke through the trees. They were home.

…………………………………………………..

Over a year had passed in the tiny village and Octavio was practically a new man. He stood tall like a mountain with broad shoulders and a strong build. He was working the field in Maurice’s stead, went hunting with Belle, and helped care for the house. He now spoke French with near fluency and would sometimes go to town to trade. He was a new man with a new name and a new family. His efforts, as small as they were, were the only way for him to pay back their kindness. If such kindness could even be repaid. Each passing day brought him strength, conviction, and pride he never thought he could have, and it was all thanks to the family Lamaunt. That morning he had to take one of the work horses to market. It was colder than usual, so he layered up before heading out. As he passed the kitchen he saw Belle standing by the bowl of fruit as if in deep thought. She was dressed more delicately than usual wearing her white silk chiffon shirt under a royal blue corset with silver rose embroidery scaling the sides. Her matching blue skirt had the same embroidery lining the bottom of it. She had her hair up in carefully styled curls secured by simple yet elegant gold pins with pearls set on the ends. She was a masterpiece of beauty. He knew that she was going with her father to visit the king, so such adornments were necessary when entering the court. Maurice had been contracted to build a new section of the castle, and Belle, as his apprentice, was to accompany him. She let out a slow and heavy breath as if to steady herself. She turned and saw Octavio standing there and yelped.

“My goodness you gave me a fright.” She said.

“I was going to get something to eat for the journey when I came across a princess. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for sudden appearance of a royal in the kitchen.” He joked. Belle scoffed then turned to reach for an apple which he promptly took. Octavio smiled playfully before he took a large bite.

“You gluttonous mongrel! Get your own breakfast!” Belle shouted pounding her fists against his chest and reaching up to get the apple which was high out of reach.

“My lady always chooses the best ones.” He said as a deep jovial laugh escaped his lips.

“Curse that bottomless pit of a stomach.” Belle huffed then smiled as he lowered his hand so she could take the fruit back.

She was about to take a bite when her eyes fluttered a bit and she staggered back.

“Belle!” Octavio quickly but gently took her by the waist.

“S.. sorry.” She shook her head and held onto his frame for support. “It’s the stays underneath. I should know better than to play around with this thing on…” Her voice was breathy, but her grip was strong. “Help me sit, would you?”

Octavio scooped her up thankful that she wasn’t wearing a stiff crinoline under the skirt, and carefully laid her on the couch. He put his hands on her face and looked deep into her eyes to make she was ok. Aside from the flush on her cheeks, and the slight shortness of breath, she seemed fine.

“What’s this?” Said Maurice as he made his way down the stairs.

Octavio quickly removed his hands and nearly jumped to the other end of the room while Belle blushed furiously covering her face with her hands thoroughly embarrassed.

“Nothing, father.” She said trying to regain her composure. “The corset just gave me a dizzy spell, is all.”

“Ah. Well, what are you waiting for, son? You’ll miss the market exchange if you stay any longer.” Said Maurice with a bit of a snicker before heading towards the back end of the kitchen.

“Yes, go now and have a safe journey.” Belle added quickly.

Octavio righted himself, having been released from his stupefied state and smiled handsomely.

“I’ll be back in time to start dinner.”

He said loud enough for Maurice to hear, but got no response, as he made his way over to Belle. She looked up to find his face right in front of hers and her breath caught in her throat. Octavio placed a ghost of a kiss on her cheek then bounded across the room to step through the front door into the morning cold.

He was in the barn setting his saddle onto Belle’s horse, Phillip, all the while thinking on what he had just done. His cheeks were fully flushed at his advancements, and while he and Belle had gotten much closer since their night in the woods, neither of them had ever done anything quite so audacious. He shook his head clear and lead Phillip out of the stable. He hooked him onto a lead post while he prepared Margarette, the horse they were selling. Once sure that everything was secure, he mounted and set off. The road to the village was always quiet, as there weren’t any other farms or dwellings for hours on end. It made for a lovely ride on clear days, and on a morning like this was particularly beautiful with the green pines covered in a thin sheet of white snow and the endless plains freshly powdered with the final remnants of winter. He arrived at the market just before eleven. Bakers were peddling their loaves of bread, weavers displayed their latest fabrics, butchers took down meats from the windows to sell, and blacksmiths worked on sharpening blades and bending iron. Sometimes there were jewelers or spice traders from far off lands, but today was simply the everyday folk of the small village. Octavio made his way through the town greeting people as he went with a soft smile. He noticed the young village girls huddle into groups and chatter as he rode by, giddily snickering and smiling at him. He didn’t care much for their flattery, still, he was never unkind to them.

Finally, he made it to the end of the road where a large open air barn stood. It was the area where most livestock and animal trade went on. He parked Phillip off to the side with other rider’s horses and unhooked Margarette. She was a fine work horse with many more years of service in her, he was sure he could fetch a good price. He barely made it to the entrance when a small and stout man scampered up.

“Gaston! Any progress with your lady?” The man’s voice was high and he spoke through his nose giving him an awkward nasal tone.

“No, Lefou. It’s not the time or the place, and more than that.” He huffed as he looked into the distance. “She’s not mine.”

“You’ve got to pull yourself together. Not a single man is as worthy of Bellerose as you are.” He countered.

“Lefou, I nearly…” He thought better of revealing his misconduct. “Fell off Phillip this morning. He must of caught sight of a rabbit or something and bucked up. Thankfully, Margarette set him straight.”

“You did something didn’t you? I know a Gaston misdirect when I hear one.” He said elbowing Octavio in the hip as that was as far as he could reach.

“I must be off to the auction, Lefou. I’ll see you after.” He grunted as he moved toward the entrance.

“Alright, but I expect a full report when you’re done young man.” Said Lefou who scuttled off to the nearby tavern.

Octavio listed Margarette with an asking price of fifty gold franks. It was a bit under her true value, but he was hoping the price would go up. Thankfully, a few farmers got into a bidding war and Octavio sold the horse for three hundred and fifty gold franks. He made sure to receive payment before handing over Margarette.

Having finished at the auction house, he made his way to the tavern. He didn’t like it much, but knew Lefou would be waiting. He entered and ordered wine and a sandwich enough for a quick conversation. He sat next to Lefou who was far past his drinking limit. Octavio looked over at the bar master who simply shrugged his shoulders and lifted a bag of coins. Octavio shook his head to signal to stop serving Lefou and the man conceded having already pocketed his money. He looked back at his friend who was slobbering on the table and asked for glass of water.

“Lefou? Are you well?” Asked Octavio putting the glass in front of him.

“Gaston!” He slurred out. “What news have you for me?”

“Nothing until you’re clear enough to hear it. I’m staying until I finish this sandwich and you sober up.”

“Pssft. You’re no fun.” He tipped the goblet of wine spilling half in his mouth and another half on his shirt.

“You have no shame, my friend.”

“None whatsoever.” He raised his goblet for Octavio to touch, but when he didn’t, he drank anyway. Octavio wasn’t willing to see his friend drink himself under the table again, so he rented a spare room for Lefou with some of his pocket money. The bar maid escorted Octavio up the stairs to the lodging area while he carried a still drinking Lefou over his shoulder. Once in the room, Octavio dropped Lefou on the bed.

“Sleep here until you’re well. I expect to see you alive come tomorrow morning.” He said with a grunt.

“Never fear. I shall live to see the day when you are together with your lady.”

“She is not my lady.”

“But she will be.” And with that Lefou fell back on the blankets snoring loudly.

Octavio made sure to remove his shoes and put him to bed after which he left the tavern to head home. It still thrilled him to think of the Lamaunt house as home. For him, home was never a word he thought would enter his vocabulary and yet it had, thanks to the Lamaunts. He smiled to himself as he unleashed Phillip, mounted and went on his way. Just as he was leaving the village, he caught sight of a woman selling flowers at the bridge. He stopped and took a gander at them.

“Roses for the misses, sir? I have roses in many colors. What will you take?”

“Oh, I don’t have a…” He stuttered for a moment. “Never mind, I… I’ll take that rose there.”

“Freshly picked this morning. Sir has an eye for finery. A coin, if you please.” She said.

He handed her a silver coin despite her saying they were only a copper. He thanked her for the flower and went off riding quickly through the evening light. He still had to prepare dinner before Belle and Maurice arrived, not to mention the house chores. Upon arriving at the house, the wagon was no where to be seen. This meant he might still have time to make a simple pot roast. He put Phillip away, gathered eggs from the coop, carrots and potatoes from the garden, some herbs from the green house, then flour and milk from the pantry. He laid out the ingredients and began prepping the kitchen for cooking. He put wood in the stove and started a fire, then collected water from the well to wash the vegetables. Once the vegetables were roasting in the pot he got to work on the house. He even started up a bath for Maurice as he generally like to take one in the evenings. By the time he heard the wagon coming around the bend, the vegetables were already cooling on the counter and the last room had been mopped clean. Belle and Maurice came in tired and weary, but upon entering the house and smelling the food he’d made they looked refreshed.

“Gaston is the god of banquets!” Cried Maurice as he lifted his arms in joyous glee. “Son you have revived this tired old man’s spirit!”

“I would imagine the delicacies at the palace much more enjoyable, but I take your praise.” He said as he embraced Maurice upon his arrival.

“My boy, that palace wouldn’t know good taste if it hit them on the head.” He boasted. “It was all terribly bland. For all the ‘highest quality ingredients’ they talked about, none of it was used to its full potential.”

“And the ladies of the court were absolutely abhorrent.” Said Belle with a huff as she rushed to the stairs, undoing the laces of her corset as she left. “Your antique dress is so impressionable! Why I never knew a woman could have such a muscular form.” She mumbled on as she continued up the stairs to her room.

“Belle was attacked by the ladies of the court due to Prince Adhemar’s obvious advances.” Maurice said under his breath. Octavio simply blinked in response. It didn’t make sense. The Belle he knew was witty and clever, and would never let anyone get the better of her.

“She only needs a moment. I’ll just pop in the bath. I want to freshen up before dinner.” He said with a melancholy tone.

“The bath is ready.” Octavio replied absentmindedly. “The water should still be warm.”

“Ah blessings upon you. Now, I might take a while, so you can start without me.”

And with that he left for the bathing room which he’d built after reading about some of the bathing rituals of Asia. Octavio gathered some of the pot roast into a medium sized bowl and filled a glass with wine. He also put the rose he’d bought in a small vase and set it in the center of the table then placed two more sets. He waited for quite some time. An hour had past, Maurice had come out from the bath, had his dinner, and had gone to bed. Thinking she might be too tired or embarrassed to come down, he reheated the roast in the left over embers from the bath fire, then filled a glass with wine and put it along with the rose on a tray and went up to Belle’s room. He knocked and called out to her before entering.

“Belle? Are you decent? I have dinner for you.”

He only heard the sound of her sniffling.

“Please? Won’t you have something to eat?” He pleaded.

“I think… not. I’m not feeling well...” Her voice cracked as if she’d been crying.

Octavio wasn’t about to let her cry over some stupid royals. She looked like a goddess that morning and he wouldn’t have her thinking any other way. He knocked louder.

“Belle, you’d better be decent because I’m about to open this door!” He said raising his voice.

“Octavio, please…” She was crying. “I’m fine. Just leave me be.”

He had the forethought to put the tray down before he continued to talk through the door.

“Of course not! You’re crying!” He was trying not to shout, but he wasn’t sure if he was succeeding. Honestly, it was a wonder Maurice hadn’t woken from all the racket.

“I’m not. The corset was just too tight and it upset my stomach. I just need to rest, please Octavio.”

She was pleading, and he was having none of it. He pushed the door open so hard it nearly came off of its’ hinges. Belle was sitting at her vanity wearing only her silk chiffon dress, cleaning the make-up running down her face. He didn’t know what to do. He was in her room ready to do something, but now that he had intruded the way that he had, he wasn’t sure what his next step should be. Belle looked away burying her face in a towel. After a moment, Octavio picked up the tray, then closed the door behind him. He put the tray on the stool next to her vanity, then moved to stand off to her side. He then gently took a knee so that he could see her eye to eye.

“What happened?” He said as he stretched out his hand only to close it and let if fall on his lap.

“I shouldn’t care. It’s so stupid. I don’t care what the villagers say about me. Why should I care what royalty says?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know that, but…” She was trying so hard to hold back her tears now that he was there with her. “It’s like they study how to cut you to the bone. The words they said were horrendous, and I just felt so alone. I didn’t let them see it. I didn’t give them that satisfaction, but I felt so alone.”

“You have your home and your father. What more do you need you ravenous woman?”

“Heh.” She sniffled. “I guess I have you as well. You gluttonous bastard.”

“There’s my Belle.”

Without thinking, his hand was already cupping her cheek as his thumb rubbed away a loose tear. There was a strange air hanging between them as if something had changed with that small gesture. Belle’s hand rose up to keep his hand steady as she leaned into it. Octavio’s heart was pounding in his chest, at a loss as to what was going on. He found himself coming closer his face right in front of hers their breath mingling between them. Then Belle turned her head slightly and gently pushed her lips against his. He jumped back too scared of what just happened, too frightened of the thought of this being a dream. Belle looked sad and stunned all at once.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She turned away putting her face in her hands.

“No, I’m just… I was just… startled…” He couldn’t find the right words to express himself, as he stayed glued to the wall for fear he might do something stupid.

“Did you… mind it?” Belle said softly as she looked up at him again.

“Not at all.” He replied, relaxing just a bit. That strange silence took hold again, a silence where their feelings were free to do as they wish, and Belle was the first to cross the room. She moved to the bookcase just to the right of Octavio and pulled out a book. She then grabbed a shawl from the coat hanger.

“Well, are you going to read with me or not?” She said.

“Um… did you still want dinner?” He asked absentmindedly.

“Sure. Bring it down, but be sure to get a glass of wine for yourself.”

Octavio took the tray and followed Belle down the steps. She turned to the living room while he turned to the kitchen to get another glass. He joined her on the floor in front of the fire place. She started to read from the book she’d taken from her room, Utopia. As soon as she started reading, the awkwardness melted away as they curled up together in a blanket as she read and he followed. They emptied the bottle of wine and finished the food all while reading about the fantastical world that Thomas More had created and like any other night, they discussed the contents for hours on end. Neither of them new what time it was, but it was far past time for bed, and just like before Octavio stood up first to help Belle stand. He smiled at her. Perhaps emboldened by the wine, or the way the light of the dying fire made Belle look like a fiery queen, Octavio leaned down and kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I've snagged even a bit of your attention. I was going to make this a one shot type thing, but the story is far more detailed than I had anticipated. The characters really want you to know the truth, so I hope you stick around to hear their story.
> 
> Comments are always welcome <3
> 
> I apologize again for any mistakes in the French.


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